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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29433027">The devil doth protest too much, methinks</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alistra/pseuds/Alistra'>Alistra</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Devil, the Spider and the Skull [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Widow (Comics), Daredevil (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Punisher (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blind Character, Blood and Injury, Domestic Avengers, Friendship, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, One Shot, Porn with Feelings, Slice of Life, implied Matt Murdock/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:13:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,163</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29433027</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alistra/pseuds/Alistra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt is in control of everything, needs nobody and loves nobody. One hundred percent. Yes, Ma'am.<br/>---<br/>  <i>"Can't a friend casually visit a friend without any specific reason?" Natasha asks. </i></p><p>  <i>"Usually it's safe to assume you want something when you drop by, and since you're not sitting on me yet, I'm thinking it might be work-related," Matt says.</i></p><p>(For Fratt Week #4: Free Topic. My chosen topic is 'Horny Bastard Matt Murdock And Friends')</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Castle &amp; Natasha Romanov, Frank Castle/Matt Murdock, Matt Murdock &amp; Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Devil, the Spider and the Skull [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2169780</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fratt Week</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The devil doth protest too much, methinks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Huge thanks to Harishe for giving this collection of impressions enough shape to call it fic. </p><p>Special thanks to Kangofu_CB for medical advice.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank gasps as if it was his very last breath. His entire body locks up, making Matt's hypersensitive senses send a helpless overload of conflicting impressions as he too, tumbles into his own release.</p><p>Panting heavily, Matt rests his sweat-slick forehead against equally flushed skin, the heavy thrum of Frank's jugular beating a salty tattoo against his tongue.</p><p>Frank curses; breathless, shaky, and awed. His arms are still wrapped tightly around Matt's back and if there's something as sentimental as a kiss being pressed to his temple, Matt's too fucked out to complain. He's lost track of time, but the night has been long and eventful, so maybe he can permit himself to close his eyes for just one moment. For once, he'll allow Frank to keep vigil while Matt lets himself be lulled by the stench of sex; the heartbeat beneath his own slowing to a more peaceful cadence.</p><p>He's not even finished the thought however, when Frank gives him a less than affectionate push, smoothly moving into an attack-ready position even as he effectively deposits Matt on the rumpled sheets next to him.</p><p>"I should've known that this is how I finally manage to catch you unawares," Natasha says from the doorway and the comfortable fog of endorphins is drowned out by the adrenaline equivalent of a bucket of ice water. It helps him focus enough to detect both her amusement and Frank's indecision about just how embarrassed he should feel. In a casual display of unconcern, Matt pulls Frank back from where he's hovering in a crouched fight-or-flight position on the edge of the bed.</p><p>"If you came for your own share, you're gonna have to give me five minutes," he tells Natasha as he arranges himself across Frank's still tense body in a possessive approximation of a cuddle. After all, tender affection isn't weakness if only displayed aggressively enough.</p><p>"Maybe later," she smirks. "Hey Frank, it's been a while. You look well."</p><p>He nods at her with stoic composure, extricates himself from Matt's arms and proceeds to the ensuite bathroom just slow enough to not look as if he's fleeing.</p><p>Matt stretches languidly. He knows Natasha's sensibilities aren't likely to take offense, and even if they do, it'll be her own fault for showing up like this. Idly scratching at his belly, he pulls a face as his fingers come away sticky; the sound of the shower turning on at the same time feeling like divine mockery. </p><p>"What do you want?" he asks.</p><p>"Can't a friend casually visit a friend without any specific reason?" Natasha returns, and the faint creak of leather against the doorjamb lets him know she's most likely in her motorcycle gear, even if his senses are still pleasantly dulled with afterglow.</p><p>"Usually it's safe to assume you want something when you drop by, and since you're not sitting on me yet, I'm thinking it might be work-related," he says.</p><p>"Have you considered I might be turned off by the fact that you were balls deep in Frank Castle when I showed up?" Natasha asks.</p><p>"Not really, no," Matt answers truthfully and grins as it earns him a rare and genuine laugh.</p><p>"Great, now I'm gonna have to kill you for knowing me too well," she says and he can tell she's rolling her eyes.</p><p>The air is still thick with mingled sweat, jizz and the artificial undertones of lube, which not just blurs the scents Natasha brought with her, but also gives his libido ideas.</p><p>She laughs again, that low, intrigued chuckle that has always gone directly to his dick and his refractory period is curse and blessing in one because he knows that she knows.</p><p>"Down boy," she all but purrs but stays glued to the doorframe. In the bathroom, the shower shuts off.</p><p>For a mad moment, Matt entertains the idea of just taking himself in hand, presenting both Natasha, and Frank, who's a comparatively new visitor to this bedroom, with an interesting non-verbal invitation.</p><p>The window for it passes unused as the bathroom door opens and Frank returns on a cloud of steam, a towel slung around his hips and a few stray droplets of water running down his body to splish quietly on the ground.</p><p>"Shower's yours," he says curtly before stopping short at something Matt can't place. "You alright there, Romanoff?"</p><p>Matt sits up, alarmed that he let his control slip so much that he might've missed something important. He tilts his head in her direction and his nostrils flare as he tastes the air more thoroughly.</p><p>"I'm always alright," Nat scoffs, but now that he's properly focusing, Matt can suddenly detect what Frank probably already picked up on.</p><p>"You're bleeding" he says, shocked more at his oversight than the fact itself.</p><p>"She's white as a sheet," Frank supplies, dropping the wet towel to quickly step into his boxers and jeans but leaving them unbuttoned in his haste as he advances on her.</p><p>"It's nothing. Pale is in this season," Natasha quips, but now that he's actually paying closer attention, her voice is surprisingly soft.</p><p>"Oh yeah? Stand without the door holding you up and I might believe you," Frank challenges, his whole body displaying disbelief.</p><p>"I don't have anything to prove to you," Natasha replies haughtily, yet floorboards creak subtly under her shifting weight. Fabric whispers as she straightens and there are two sudden slaps of large bare feet against the bedroom floor as Frank lunges forward to catch her as she pitches forwards with a worrying lack of grace.</p><p>Matt shoots off the bed with a curse, Natasha's pained gasp muffled by gritted teeth and bracing herself on Frank's shoulder.</p><p>"Maybe I've been better," she admits weakly, not protesting as Frank hooks his arm around her shoulder to steady her, probably giving her a visual once-over.</p><p>"What's the damage?" he asks, tone brooking no argument as he adds,"honestly this time."</p><p>"There was an unexpectedly hostile bitch with a sword," she grinds out and, as Matt already opens his mouth to ask the obvious question, she adds "not <i>your</i> bitch with a sword. It went on for longer than I'd thought and in the end she got lucky, that's all. I would've seen to the cut myself, but she got the back of my thigh and not even I can stitch that up well."</p><p>"You've gotta lie down," Matt insists, reaching for her arm but Natasha stays right there under Frank's arm.</p><p>"Not in here I won't. Your bed's in a worse state than after that weekend we spent here last August."</p><p>"How about I take you to the couch where you can simultaneously lie down and never elaborate on that," Frank suggests, gently manhandling her towards the door and pointedly not looking at Matt in the process. </p><p>"I got this. You go take a shower."</p><p>Matt stands listening while the two of them dance a shuffling two-step towards the living-room space. "First-aid kit-"</p><p>"I know where the fucking first aid is, Red," Frank snaps back, impatient. "Take a goddamn shower."</p><p>Matt opens a window to dissipate the background fragrances of the past few hours going rank before obeying for once and taking a goddamn shower. As the bathroom door closes, he can't fail to hear Frank grumbling about micro-managing assholes and Natasha's unintelligible but amused reply.</p><p>It's reassuring to know his friend in good hands, but the Lord help Matt if these two ever choose to conspire against him.</p><p>By the time Matt returns a cleaner but no less filthy man, the quintessentially Natasha fragrances of blood, antiseptic and tea mingle with Frank's omnipresence of coffee.</p><p>Matt throws on some comfortable clothes, strips the bed and holds his breath as he stuffs fun-stained sheets into the hamper before also advancing to the living room.</p><p>By the rustling that accompanies him, Frank seems to regretfully have found the time to put on a shirt, while Natasha is lying on her front on the right-hand couch, cradling a mug of what smells like her comfort drink - black tea with raspberry jam. The occasional ping of a stirring spoon hitting ceramic confirms the olfactory assessment.</p><p>"You okay?" Matt checks in, perching on the seat next to her knees.</p><p>"Yes," she says, and though tired, this time it sounds genuine. "My new best friend Frank patched me up well."</p><p>"Mind if I have a look?" Matt asks as Frank rounds the settee with two steaming mugs of coffee in hand.</p><p>"You double checking my work?" he mumbles, gruff tone set off by the unvarnished underside of one mug rasping against wood as he thoughtfully angles the cooler handle to point in Matt's direction. "Coffee at two o'clock."</p><p>"Thanks, Frank." Matt reaches for Natasha's leg without acknowledging the question. "On your left or right?" he asks her.</p><p>"Left," Natasha replies and he feels his way over to where her bare left knee is snug against the outside of his sweatpants.</p><p>Like always, Natasha is smooth and flawless under his palm as he slides his hand up the gentle slope of her thigh. Just before the swell of her backside, the skin grows warmer, antiseptic still palpable on the air but its slightly cooling effect already worn off. Matt's fingertips slow to gently explore a strip of medical tape holding a rectangle of gauze. It covers a small ridge of neatly knotted stitches, spanning all the way from an edge of lace low on the outside of her hip to the inside of her thigh. Tracing its length in the spirit of thorough friendly concern, Matt finds the dressing ends high enough between her thighs for the back of his fingers to pick up on the warmth of her sex. Pain and pleasure have always made for an enticing combination when it comes to them and he mentally measures whether it's more than a handspan between the end of the wound and-</p><p>Frank takes a slurping drink of coffee that completely fails to hide his amusement.</p><p>"I was just assessing your skills as a DIY surgeon," Matt objects without being prompted, withdrawing his hand to the safer vicinity of Natasha's knee.</p><p>A duet of entertained incredulity is his reply.</p><p>"You're unbelievable," Frank says, but it sounds strangely fond and Matt doesn't know what to do with that information.</p><p>"Getting cold over here, pass me that blanket," Natasha asks, the acridic tang of painkillers mixing with fruity raspberries on her breath. Matt catches the woollen throw as it is lobbed his way and neatly tucks her in before joining Frank on the other couch to give her more space.</p><p>It is remarkably quiet for a long moment until Frank laughs under his breath.</p><p>"Are you having an eyebrow conversation in front of the blind guy, Natasha?" Matt asks, indignantly.</p><p>"I'd never," she smirks, consonants running together a little with fatigue smooshing her cheek into a pillow. Matt knows how hard it is for her to let her guard down, and he feels a complicated mix of protectiveness, pride and affection that she will do so when it isn't just him here at his place.</p><p>Frank's hand lands high on Matt's knee, making him start at the unexpectedly intimate gesture.</p><p>"Stop thinking and drink your coffee," Frank says, as if he's read his thoughts.</p><p>Matt has the distinct feeling he's missed an important exchange of trust between the two, but Frank's thumb is drawing reassuring circles on his thigh and across from them, Natasha exhales contently as meds and exhaustion catch up with her.</p><p>Outside a siren wails faintly, but it's going past and there is nothing Matt can hear that requires his immediate attention. There is a weird sense of domesticity to the display as they sit there, distracting enough for him to burn his tongue on his coffee.</p><p>Natasha's heart rate slows further and her breathing evens out fully. After a short while, Frank leans over and removes the mug from her hands before tugging the blanket higher around her shoulders.</p><p>She stirs briefly, but doesn't protest.</p><p>"We're going after the bitch with the sword, aren't we?" Frank asks quietly as he sits back down, noticeably closer than before.</p><p>"I am," Matt corrects.</p><p>"Your track record for women with swords is shit. I'm coming with," Frank says, shaking his head.</p><p>"I can handle myself."</p><p>"Won't hurt to have backup. She's a friend."</p><p>Matt inclines his head to better read Frank's sincerity in his heartbeat. "You hardly even know her."</p><p>"She's <i>your</i> friend," Frank insists, as if that explains everything, and maybe to him, it does. "If even the Black Widow can accept help now and then..." He leaves the sentence dangling and his expression says he's figured out a long time ago that the fastest way to get Matt to do anything, is to imply that he can't.</p><p>"I hate you," Matt says, a complicated mix of defeat and support warring in his chest. </p><p>"I hate you, too," Frank grins, kissing Matt's frown.</p>
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